I’ve slept in tents, too many nights, on cots and sleeping bags. Those doggone bags were so well worn we called ‘em bed down rags.
And when you’re young it doesn’t seem to matter where you sleep. Those forty winks come easy having never counted sheep.
But age has made its nasty mark. I’ve softened up a bit. I’d have to say that sleeping bags, for me, are plumb unfit.
So when it comes to camping and it’s time to hit the sack. I hope to find an answer to the sleeping bag attack.
That’s when my good friend Peter said, “I bought a brand new rig. It’s more than just a trailer and I’m telling you it’s big!
“It has all the amenities with fridge to keep us fed. A shower stall and most of all a place to lay your head.
“Each horse has its own private spot. They’ll ride back in the rear. There’s storage room along each side to pack in all our gear.”
I almost felt a sense of guilt. Had I become a dude? But the first time with the trailer caused my life to be renewed.
We saddled up our horses. They were anxious for a ride. We made it back at dark and let me tell you I was fried.
We microwaved our dinner. From the fridge came berry pie. Then, we sat around the campfire, as the evening’s end was nigh.
A long hot shower did the trick before we hit the hay. I’d have to say the shower was the best part of my day.
Each cowboy pulled his covers as he slipped into his bed. The lights were out in just a few. I slept like I was dead.
Tell me, am I too civilized? That’s what some folks might say. Alas this aging cowboy has found a better way.